A rather mediocre reflection told him one thing, that it’s all been.. an eventful, eventual thing of endless… escapism for nonREGULARISED BLISS.
Their feelings about the state of this particular artist’s existential whereabouts
Causing(always.) and as per usual an AWFUL amount of EARLY-am. required requiem. “We are vying – not merely trying right here – to
CoupleTogether and NOT complete but compete with the coexisting nature” – of the ABRUPTNESS at its core . Giacometti, “we saw you, STILL-do” —-
“Your endless array of broken~down enthusiasms — etched~til~sketching the insides of his very own WaYwArD brain.” He isn’t actually insane but rather,
Lightly-both-lethargically deranged. And yet with these CALL-IT-WHAT-WE-MAY irregular responsibilities he sees that thing which no one else feels, and constructively vice-versa, IF we may just remain —
Enthused and constantly CONversing with our VERY own insane sense of membrane again.
AKA. OUR awfully contrived and inflated SENSE of disentangled ego . “When his gravitational sense of SPOTLIGHT~boredom broke bonds with HIS favourite BEST(!!)
State of spectacularly abrupt awareness.” That’s probably when.. the writer finally picks UP their VERNACULAR-pen. Just like as if…
It were-
One of Alberto’s slender fucking figurines. Although, it ISN’T.. and it never willBE
That PREselected thing
